


Winter in Wisconsin (II)

by RockSaltandCherryPie



Series: Winter in Wisconsin [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Light Wincest, M/M, light weecest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-18
Updated: 2013-12-18
Packaged: 2018-01-05 01:10:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1087807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RockSaltandCherryPie/pseuds/RockSaltandCherryPie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John leaves on his hunt, the boys are alone in the cabin. Sam gets a little upset. Dean soothes his wounds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winter in Wisconsin (II)

**Author's Note:**

> warnings for subtle weecest / intimacy.

They had breakfast together before John left them to meet with Jim. They sat at the small table, eating beans and eggs and toast.

“Why can’t I come? Look, I don’t need to be babied anymore, I can –” Sam started after Dad explained that he would be doing this hunt strictly alone.

“Sam, you just got attacked, for crying out loud,” John retorted. “You’re in no shape to be hunting down more of those buggers. And even if you were, you’re still just a kid. You aren’t ready. You’re going to stay here with Dean and that’s all there’ll be on the subject. You hear me?”

Sam huffed and folded his arms, then looked at Dean, who only raised his hands in one swift I-am-not-part-of-this gesture.

 

Jim came to pick up John in his four-wheeler truck at precisely ten o'clock. He tousled Sam's hair and commented on how much they'd both grown since the last time he saw them.

"Boy, you shot up like a rocket, didn't you?" Jim chuckled, getting a good look at Sam.

Sam smiled inwardly and shot a look at Dean that said _should I remember this guy? 'Cause I don't._ Dean stifled a laugh and then Jim shook Dean’s hand good and hard.

 

After John packed up a bunch of his things: guns, silver bullets, etc, he addressed Sam and Dean from the front door. "Alright, boys, there should be enough food in the cupboard and fridge for a few days. I'm not sure how long we'll be gone, but I'll keep in touch. Stay _safe_." And with that, he was gone, driving off with the loud roar of the truck's engine, and Sam and Dean were left alone in the quiet of the cabin. Sam sat on the little bench in the nook of the window and watched the truck fall out of view, swallowed up by the canopy of trees.

"He'll be back soon," Dean said, approaching him from behind.

Sam let out an apathetic sound.

"'Sides, it's gonna be fun, huh, just you and me?" Dean offered.

"That's not what I'm upset about, Dean."

"What are you upset about?"

"Nothing." Sam got up and pushed past him, going to the bedroom at the back. Dean followed. Sam apparently decided to finally unpack his things, hastily transferring a few t-shirts and jeans to the drawers.

"Sam," Dean started, "you know if you say _nothing_ like _nothing_ " - he put on his best "moody Sam" voice -"it's never _nothing_."

Sam shook his head, clearly reluctant. Or maybe he thought Dean wouldn’t understand.

Dean sat on the edge of his bed, watched him haphazardly fold clothes and put them away.

“It’s just, I finally thought… Y’know… we might have a normal… Christmas,” Sam said, pausing long in between his words, still unsure of them himself. “But, y’know, whatever,” he added nonchalantly afterwards, as if realizing how childish his words sounded.

But they didn’t to Dean. They stung sharp and resonated heavy over his heart. He didn’t know what to say. Defensively, he let words spill from his mouth without really thinking about them. He did that pretty often, and too often they came out harshly. “Sam, when are you gonna realize that we’re never going to be _normal_?”

At first, for a mere glimpse, Sam’s eyes resembled those of a hurt, lost dog. But then they hardened as he turned away, and Dean instantly regretted saying what he did.

“Sam…” He started to offer up an apology, but Sam cut him off right away.

“No, you’re right, Dean.”

And to Dean, those words rung with a maturity far beyond Sam’s years. And he instantly wished he could take them and shove them in a box to stow away for another ten or twenty years. And it was his fault they even were spoken in the first place, and he was so angry at himself for that.

Sam brushed past him, uttering a brief “I’m going to take a shower,” and walked across the hall to the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

 

Dean sat on the couch the whole time, wishing there was a goddamn TV or something in this place so he didn’t have to be left alone with his thoughts.

 

They ate dinner in silence, mostly, listening to the hum of the refrigerator and the ticking of the wall clock as their forks clinked against the plates. Dean had emptied a can of meatballs and potatoes into a pot and heated it over the stove for them. The meat was too tender and the gravy was weak but it would have to do. Sam didn’t complain. Which was weird, because he usually always did… But not this time. Instead, he silently brought his plate to the sink and washed it clean, then went back to the bedroom. His impassive attitude towards everything was getting under Dean’s skin. He hated when he got like this. It was rare that it was because of Dean, though. Usually it was Dad that filled the role of imposing asshole. _Oh god, was he being like Dad?_

“Sam? I’m going to the store. I’ll be back soon,” Dean called from the entrance. He needed a breather, and needed something to put Sam’s spirits back up. Plus, he thought Sam could use a little alone time as well. “Stay here.” He put as much emphasis on the last words as he could. They _really_ didn’t need a repeat of last night.

 

Dean took the impala to the nearest strip mall, which was about fifteen minutes away and all of the stores looked as though they hadn’t been running for years. But sure enough, one was lit up enough for Dean to park in front of and go inside. It was a pharmacy; small but carried all of the necessities. This must have been the same place Dad came. The store was decorated with Christmas, little Santas and trees everywhere. Dean picked out a few things for Sam that made him chuckle under his breath, and some hot cocoa which was always a nice treat when it was this cold outside and difficult to get warm. He briefly wondered about the firewood, whether they had enough to last them a few days. After all, he was the man of the house now, and it was his job to think of everything. But his suspicions were correct when he pulled back into the gravel in front of the cabin and saw a stack of logs stretching up the side, almost reaching the roof.

When Dean came back in Sam was on the floor in front of the fire, hunched over some open text books, hand pressed to his temples in concentration.

"Hey, Sammy, gotcha something," Dean said, casually strutting over, digging in the bag. Smugly, he pulled out a pair of felt reindeer antlers attached to a headband and held them proudly in front of him.

Sam's face read _you've gotta be kidding me_ but a tiny smile crept up anyway, and whether it was mockery or genuine, Dean didn't really care. It was a smile, and that's what Dean had been aiming for.

"C'mon, put 'em on. 'Getcha in the spirit." Dean tossed them over, then flopped on the couch with a heavy _thud_. "What are you studying anyway? What is so important that it can't wait until after Christmas vacation?"

Sam exhaled, flipping a few pages laboriously. "Chemistry. And this isn't Christmas vacation, Dean. You said it yourself."

Dean bit his cheeks, and for the first time, contemplated his words. "Yeah, well, I changed my mind. Who says it can't be Christmas vacation? Just 'cause Dad's gone, it doesn't mean we can't have a holiday."

For an instant, Sam's eyes shot up, hopeful. But then they fluttered away again, drooping back to the books. It was like some other voice in his head was shooting him down, and it hurt Dean to think that it might be _his_.  

"Sam, look..." Dean started, leaning forward now, on the edge of the couch. "What I said before, I..."

"It's okay, Dean..."

"No, it's not. I know you're trying, here." Dean swiped a palm over his face. "So we're gonna do Christmas, and it's gonna be great. Kay?" 

Sam's hopeful gaze lingered this time, didn't evaporate. To express his approval, Sam plopped the antlers on his head and smiled, tight-lipped and wide.

 

They decided to sleep on the couches because it was warmer by the fire. It was the cabin's only source of heat. Instead of falling asleep right away, they each lay awake watching the flames dance, under blankets on opposite couches.

"What do you think Dad's doing right now?" Sam said quietly, arms folded over his chest.

Dean shrugged. "I'd like to think he's already gotten some good leads on where those sons of bitches are hiding out. But there's really no telling."

By the slightly darkened crease in Sam's brow, Dean could tell his words weren't reassuring enough for Sam's worrying mind.

"Sammy," Dean started. "Dad's the best at what he does. I'm sure he's fine. And I'm sure he and Jim and the other hunters are all watching each other's backs."

Sam nodded, said "I know" vaguely, wrinkled his brow in concentration. 

“So how’s your… y’know,” Dean gestured toward his own ribs, looking over at Sam.

Sam nodded, spoke as soft as the crackling fire. “Fine.”

“How was the shower? Is everything still patched up good?”

Sam made a contemplative face. “Stung a bit. But it’s good, Dean. I’m good.”

Sam didn’t want Dean worrying about him more than he should, so he didn’t tell him that the shower had caused his wounds to open up again and because of that he felt weak all over. He also didn’t tell him that it was probably already time to redress it with some new gauze. He would just do it himself in the morning, before Dean woke up. _Although it would be a lot easier if Dean did it._ No. He didn’t need Dean to feel even worse about it than he already did. He couldn’t tell him.

“You sure?” Dean asked from the other couch, and it made Sam’s stomach give a little jump, feeling the guilt for lying.

And since Dean could always read him so well, even after Sam nodded and said “yeah, Dean,” Dean shrugged out of the blanket he was under and went over to Sam’s couch and sat on the edge.

“You’re lying.”

When Sam didn’t respond, Dean only insisted, “come on, let me see. I have to take care of you, remember?”

So Sam huffed and groaned but obliged, sliding his top half out from under the blanket and pushing himself up to a sitting position. Dean had on his big brother face, concentrated and determined. Sam lifted his t-shirt slowly to expose his stomach, his ribs. As he held it up, Dean hissed, eyes widening, and touched light fingers over the soaked bandage.

“Sammy…” his tone was shaky, sympathetic and hesitant at first, but then it got harder. “Why didn’t you say anything? C’mon, take it off.”

In between protests, Sam tried to explain. “I didn’t want you to worry. It isn’t as bad as it looks.” Dean helped him out of his shirt, and Sam leaned back on his hands after it was out of the way, letting his eyes meander down under heavy lids. “Dean…” His older brother looked so stern then, his cheeks tightening as he clenched his teeth underneath. This was exactly what he didn’t want.

“Dean…” He tried again, pushing up now, into Dean’s hands, maybe trying to grab at them, whatever it would take to get him to listen, but Dean wouldn’t have it.

“Lie down, Sammy.” Dean couldn’t pull his eyes away from the giant red stain soaking through the material.

Sam did as he was told and fell back on the couch, letting his hands rest loosely on his stomach.

Dean got up and rummaged through the first aid kit for the gauze and disinfectant cream. Coming back over, he sat on the edge of the couch again, making it dip slightly in. Sam didn’t know if he should even try to say anything more, or if he should just remain silent. It was hard to tell which would be more beneficial. So, instead, he went for something in between both. Whispering, he tried to offer Dean one more “I’m okay,” but Dean replied by shushing him.

Instantly his hands went to work once more, drifting up to Sam’s chest with meticulous precaution, soothing him even before they were touching his skin. Slowly, he stripped the bloodied bandage off of him, unravelling it layer by layer. Sam arched his back ever so slightly each time Dean had to retrieve it from underneath. When the bandage was off they both examined Sam’s swollen flesh underneath, damp with vibrant red and inflamed.

It stung like hell, being exposed like that, and looking at it now for the first time, he thought it looked pretty horrible, maybe even infected. Dean dabbed at the wound with a damp towel first, cleaning it up. Then Sam got up on his elbows again as Dean grabbed behind him for the cream.

“It’s not gonna sting, is it?” Sam asked, kind of hoping against all hope that the pain wouldn’t have to get even worse, but Dean didn’t seem to know how to respond.

“Just relax. It won’t help if you’re all tense.” And Dean brought two fingers carrying the rich white cream over and gently pressed them to his chest, rubbing the stuff in. It was cool at first, almost soothing, but then, as Dean continued to gently massage it in, a sharp stinging pain ensued. Sam winced but didn’t pull back, instead just endured it and tried to focus on something else. The vein in Dean’s arm that stood out so prominently against the fire’s glow, his shaded face, his narrowed eyes, how they were so focused on his task. And the comforting circles he was making with his fingertips, gently caressing the torn up flesh underneath, careful not to break what had actually managed to heal in the past twenty-four hours.

They were so close like this, and upon realizing this, upon realizing just how comforting his older brother’s presence was, the pain seemed to evaporate. It simply drifted off somewhere as though it was never there at all, silence taking its place and hovering between the two of them. Sam shut his eyes as Dean circled more of the cream into his heated skin, and leaned closer. He wanted to bask in his brother the same way he would a hot shower, slowly relieving all of his aches and deepest pains. And once the stinging was gone, the cream started to feel good. Actually, _really_ good. Sam pressed even closer to Dean, into the touch, and it dawned on him that Dean probably couldn’t see what he was doing now but he hoped he didn’t mind. He didn’t even really care where the cream was going anymore, as long as Dean kept touching him like this.

“Sammy…” Dean’s hand was trapped now, but he still gently rubbed with his thumb over the puffy flesh outside of the wounds.

Sam let his forehead fall against Dean’s firm shoulder, inhaling his musky scent and letting the muscles in his back relax and slump forward. “Feels good, Dean.”

Dean kept up the soothing circles with his palm, no longer on the actual wound but a bit lower, and Sam could feel his shoulders relaxing, his clenched chest loosening up a bit. “Yeah?” Dean whispered softly in his ear. He was probably pleasantly surprised and relieved that Sam wasn’t crying out in pain instead.

Sam balled up Dean’s sweatpants in his fists, resting on his thighs. “Yeah…”

Dean’s palm slid around his back, supporting him, still rubbing in small circles. “I have to get the other strip of gauze.” And then he started to shift, to stop his movements, and the pain started to rise up again.

“No,” Sam protested. “Just… Just for a little while longer…” And he smiled then against Dean’s shoulder because he knew how it sounded. How childish it was that he still found comfort in his older brother caressing him, holding him close…

“Okay, Sammy… Okay.” Dean leaned down and Sam could feel him breathing on his neck, could feel his cheek stroking soothingly over his ear. Sam let his eyes fall closed again as he hummed softly, taking all of Dean in. Dean’s firm hands glided over his back, over his exposed skin, warming him with a constant, hot pressure. They slid over his spine, up to his neck and over his shoulders. Sam was almost in a trance, rocking his head slightly back and forth, getting closer and closer to Dean’s neck. So warm, so soft, so…

“Alright, come on, big guy.” And he was snapped out of it when Dean gently pushed him back by his shoulders, separating them into two again.

Dean wrapped the new gauze around Sam once, twice, three times, and then sealed it with strips of white medical tape.

Sam didn’t want to let go of Dean’s knees. He didn’t want Dean to leave. But he did. He went to the bedroom and brought Sam back a sweatshirt to wear that was warm and dry, and helped him slip it on.

“Alright, lie back.” Dean coaxed, puffing up the pillow underneath him a bit and bringing the blanket over him when Sam wriggled back down.

            The pillow was cold and not nearly as comfortable as Dean’s shoulder had been, but he was pretty tired now and so he obliged, letting his cheek press against the rough material. He watched Dean as he silently cleaned up the area before slipping back under the blankets on the other couch.

“Goodnight, Sammy,” Dean said, before turning so that his back was to Sam.

“Night, Dean…” Sam mumbled, reaching down to adjust the blanket and his pants which were trapped too tightly between his legs, and it was only then that he realized, with a sudden flash of shame and perplexity, that he was unmistakably hard. Apparently his body had reacted strongly to Dean’s caresses, and a lot of his blood had gathered to his dick. _Oh god, had Dean seen that?_

 _Whatever, natural reaction,_ was what he wrote it off as so that he could forget about it and get some sleep.


End file.
